


The Darkness Within You, The Madness That Makes Me

by onehorneddemon



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types, The Addams Family (Movies - Sonnenfeld)
Genre: AddamsFamilyValentinesSpecial2021, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Morticia and Gomez need therapy and by God they will get it, Self-Harm, Suicide, communication is key everyone please remember that, wow lots of these tags are just content warnings lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:47:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29452554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onehorneddemon/pseuds/onehorneddemon
Summary: "I will not have you without the darkness that hides within you. I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me. If our demons cannot dance, neither can we.” -Nikita Gill___Rushing into marriage was the easiest decision Morticia and Gomez Addams ever made. Unfortunately, there is still much work to be done before they know each other as intimately as they need to... and they each have some skeletons in their closet.
Relationships: Gomez Addams/Morticia Addams
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10
Collections: Addams Family Valentines 2021





	The Darkness Within You, The Madness That Makes Me

**Author's Note:**

> This was made for the Addams Family Valentine's Day Exchange, but it is not fluffy or soft til the very end, so I am very sorry! This was prompt number one:
> 
> "I will not have you without the darkness that hides within you. I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me. If our demons cannot dance, neither can we.” -Nikita Gill.
> 
> Super pretty quote, I sincerely hope my interpretation isn't too dark and dramatic- but then again, this is the Addams Family we're talking about. MAJOR content warning for this one, if anything in the tags would be potentially triggering to you please proceed with caution. These lovebirds get a soft happy ending I swear to god, but they gotta re-hash a lotta trauma first!

They never expected perfection. Despite their expertly crafted aesthetic, the way they complemented each other was never truly about beauty. No, Morticia and Gomez had something that stretched far deeper, a love that was far less glamorous than many would care to witness.

But it was theirs all the same.

Their vows were reflections of themselves, capturing their youthful energy and glowing enthusiasm. Morticia, with her measured joy, precisely aimed her words to pierce Gomez’s heart and spill forth the vocal, passionate contents within. It was the first time she ever saw him cry. Perhaps it was a dangerous act of impulsivity to be married on the same day they met, but neither one of them cared. They promised to love each other for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, in life and in death… and they promised full, raw honesty to one another. In the moment, they had each been ready to cut their own heart out, to free it from the prison of their ribs and present the whole bleeding mess of it without a care for how much it would hurt.

True vulnerability, they soon learned, would hurt far more.

It began with Gomez. He was the true bleeding heart of the pair of them, and though he had his mysterious qualities, he couldn’t help but keep anything from his wife. Unfortunately, that meant admitting all his failings to her. And there were so, so many. The poor soul would often lay awake in bed, long after Morticia had been fully grasped by the clutches of sleep, tossing and turning over unearthed traumas. He could not remember much of his youth. Most was repressed, buried deep in an unmarked grave for his own survival, but as soon as anything broke free, he plunged into the coffin, clawing aside dirt and searching the old bones to fill in the gaps. It was easy to remember what others had done to wrong him- there was plenty of that to spare. What he searched for- what he dreaded- was what he had done to himself, to his family. Self-sabotage was one of his many teenage talents, after all. Each night he seemed to find another missing piece, always framed by a ‘what if.’ What if Morticia knew? What would she say? He promised himself that he would tell her in the morning, but morning would come, and in the throes of the passion of married life, he would often forget. It was simpler that way- that is, until nightfall, when he found himself tossing and turning again. 

While he remained impeccably groomed, he was wasting away. Morticia noticed her husband's restlessness immediately, and though she found the dark circles under his eyes incredibly attractive, she wanted nothing more than for him to rest easy once again. One night after they had made love, she stayed awake with him, eyes shut but listening closely as he rose from his bed and descended the stairs. The shifting groan of a distant secret door told her that he was headed to the vault. She had never seen it herself, and had no idea what he might want there at two in the morning, but despite her curiosity she did not follow. He would come back, surely. Whenever he was ready. Three hours later when the sun was peeking over the horizon, he shook her awake, guilt ridden and distraught. He had found the missing piece.

“Morticia.”   
  
“Mm?”

“I’m sorry.”   
  
“For waking me?” Morticia gave him a tired smile. “Darling, you know I don’t mind. Seeing your face at any hour is always a pleasure.”

Gomez grimaced. “I feel that I need to warn you.”   
  
Her smile disappeared. He looked more distressed than she had ever seen him. “Of what?”

“Of myself.” He could not meet her gaze. “If I were you, I would never stay. I can hardly live with myself.”

Finally recounting the story of his brother truly broke him down. Poor Gomez sobbed for hours at the thought of the betrayal, and Morticia held him, pressing gentle kisses to his head, stroking his hair, until he made no more sound and only shuddered. It was quite the complex story, she would say that much. She had never met Fester, but the way Gomez spoke so highly of him, it was like she knew him already. He sounded so genuine- a pure ray of moonlight with a quiet little cackle of a laugh, always playing jokes, always the center of attention.

It was no wonder he was jealous.

* * *

That debutante ball was one of many they had attended, and all turned out the same. Gomez mourned the time he had lost nursing a cigar just outside the ballroom floor, while Fester waltzed and talked with as many girls as he pleased. His brother was always a social butterfly, and though Gomez also presented himself with unabashed confidence, he tended to be a bit… much. Anyone drawn in by his charm would quickly run off, startled by his manic energy and dark humor. All he could ever accomplish was stealing some poor soul away after the party to kiss them passionately against the hard brick of whatever building they had been waltzing in. Sometimes it was a man, just as alone as he was. Sometimes it was a woman, overcome with euphoria from dancing and eager for any contact. Of course, they'd never stick around for long, because Gomez Addams and his silver tongue bred such powerful, burning shame within their hearts. 

That was all he seemed to be capable of, unlike dear sweet Fester. Precisely why he was jealous. Insanely, maddeningly jealous. So jealous, in fact, that after the ball he waved his brother away, opting to stay with the Amore twins and entertain them for a while. The sweet conjoined blondes were frightened of him, he knew that much. Frightened of him and hopelessly enamored by his brother… but Fester had a sort of childlike innocence about him. No matter how much they wanted him, he would never take the next step. Earlier, he had confessed to Gomez that he was falling in love with both twins- absolutely madly in love like never before. 

_ “I don’t know what to do with myself Gomez! They’re both so… so…!” _

_ “Saccharine?” _

_ “So perfect!” _

_ “Ah. Well, I suppose... if you like blondes.” _

_ “I don’t care what color their hair is! I don’t care one bit! What I love is their souls!” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Good point- they’d make a fine sacrifice!” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Guh- honestly, Gomez! Can you quit being so sardonic for five seconds?! Just- just please be happy for me! I’ve never felt anything like this in my entire life. This is love, real love we’re talking about. I mean it!” _

_ “Mm. Something I wouldn’t know anything about, right?” _

_ “Well, I, uh… you’re sort of… mm... I’m sure you know something!” _

_ “Sure, Fester. Let’s get you back to your twin skeletons.” _

He wanted to take things slowly. They hardly knew each other, after all, and Fester was eager to learn about them before even thinking of moving further. He did this with most women he liked. It was why he ended up with so many friends.

It was also why Gomez decided to lean into the danger they saw in him. Perhaps that would be his appeal- the dangerous, silver-tongued Lothario with the wild, glittering eyes, speaking things to them that they wouldn't dare repeat, things they would certainly let him do to them without question.

_ “My brother is sweet, you see, but that’s all there is to him. I see the way you look at him, and it’ll take him a hundred years to look back at you the same way. And between us three, he’s very… inexperienced.” _

_ “What are you trying to say?” _ _  
_ _  
_ _ “Dear, sweet Flora… meet me at the gazebo at midnight. Bring your sister if she cares to come. If you want a stumbling puppy, by all means, go to Fester. But I can give you both pure, unadulterated ecstasy… and I think I know which you’ll choose.” _

It all happened so quickly later that night, a fit of passion in the dark, and then they were both gone. Gomez had no intention to coddle them. He knew they would leave, everyone always did.

He just never expected his brother to leave too.

* * *

"How could anyone ever forgive me?" Gomez whispered, his voice cracking. "Of course he left. He confided in me, he trusted me..." He sobbed, overcome with shame. "I used them."

Morticia wiped a tear from his cheek, but remained silent. There was far too much on her mind for her to put into words, and when she spoke, she wanted to choose them carefully. Tonight Morticia saw something reflected in her husband that was uncomfortably familiar to her, and a little voice in the back of her mind told her that history was repeating itself. Not for him, but for her in ways he may never understand. Overcome with creeping dread for what was to come, she retreated into herself and settled with one word. A question.

"Why?"

Her husband drew a shaky breath. "Why did I do it?" Gomez ran his hand roughly through his own hair, pushing hers aside as his nails scraped his scalp. He repeated himself, but his tone had changed. "Why  _ did _ I do it?" He shook his head. "To feel wanted. To feel something. Anything." He looked up at her, eyes bloodshot and swollen. "I have no good reason. Flings like that… they filled me with adrenaline. I felt invincible." His voice sounded anything but invincible now. "I was addicted."

He was looking for something in her eyes. Validation. He felt that he didn't deserve it, but still, he silently begged for it.

Morticia nodded slowly. "I see." She cupped his cheek with a gentle hand, running her nail over the track his tears left. "How long has he been gone?"

"Four years," Gomez choked out, beginning to shake like a leaf once more. He was only eighteen on the night his brother left. Only eighteen… but already old enough to know better. It would be one thing if Fester was dead. He had spoken with spirits before, he could surely work things out with a ghostly brother, and if he needed to find him, he would be buried in their very own backyard. But to know that he could be out there somewhere, alive and well and very far from him… it broke his heart. Four years, and not even an attempt at contact. Four years of assuring himself he would come home. And now he was twenty-two, and already married, and his poor wife may have to witness four more, or longer.

If she would even be willing to stay for that long.

* * *

The next few days were heavy with tension. Since that night, Morticia spoke less, and Gomez couldn't help but feel that he had lost her trust. Still, he could not bear the thought of keeping a secret like this from his wife, and was fully ready to suffer the consequences of laying all his cards on the table. He had always been an honest man- sometimes too honest for his own good- but with Morticia, it was different. He wanted her to know every facet of him, every crack and crevice and imperfection, so that she fully understood who she had married. Since the wedding, he had heard the voice of his brother ringing in his ears, speaking of taking things slowly, of getting to know someone over time in order to truly judge their value as a lover. It wasn't as if he didn't have time for such things. He simply didn't know how to live that way. If it was to happen, it would happen  _ now _ . Thankfully, Morticia seemed to be the same, or else she wouldn't have agreed to his proposal.

And yet… they had only just met.

And yet…

Morticia brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, her eyes unable to meet the man across the room from her. She was seated in her peacock chair pretending to be engrossed in the paper, but she wasn't absorbing a word of it- not when she could feel her husband's gaze boring into her. He wanted to be close to her, she knew without even looking. Gomez Addams had many love languages, but physical touch was highest on the list. Despite that, he respected her space far too much to intrude, and so he simply looked at her with those big, brown eyes and said nothing.

It made her sick.

Not because of his devotion and caution, no, and not because she no longer trusted him. In fact, his willingness to bare his soul to her was proof enough that he could now be trustworthy. Gomez was a changed man, she was sure of it. But all the same, she was angry. Selfishly enough, she knew it had nothing to do with those poor girls, or with Fester. It was all to do with the way he shouldered his guilt… and what that meant for her. He was quick to throw salt in his own wound, to deem himself unworthy over one past mistake, and in her humble opinion, this was hardly even a sin worth such punishment. Morticia felt that she had done far worse. If Gomez held himself to such a high standard, she could only imagine how he might crucify her for the wrongs she had committed.

She wanted to tell him. She was desperate to be as easily open as he was… but it was not in her nature. Her soul was kept locked within a steel trap, and while she did love him, she was not ready to face his scorn. Despite his failings, he was the most wonderful man she had ever met, and she could not stand for him to look at her if he felt she was disgusting. She was afraid that his kind eyes, warm like the loveliest fire, would pry her cold heart open, and in a rare moment of vulnerability she would be burned. Many men had tried to hurt her in this way, but none of them meant anything to her. Not like Gomez.

So she said nothing. If she even opened her mouth for more than a second, it would all come spilling out. 

Best to hold on to what she had before it was gone.

* * *

He was pacing again.

Only five days since their conversation, and he spent each of them pacing about the house, swinging his rapier, puffing at his cigar, and when he couldn't take it anymore, he would go down to the vault. He begged silently for Morticia’s touch every other hour of the day, but when he descended into the depths of the Addams manor, he would turn to her and sternly demand, "Don't follow me."

She did one day, of course- as silently as she possibly could- and memorized his pathway so she could sneak off the next night and truly look at what he was keeping there. It was like a maze all the way down, and as she traveled within it, it felt like a glimpse into her husband’s psyche. In the first room behind the bookcase there were a thousand chains to open the trap door, but she watched closely for the one he pulled and committed it to memory. Middle layer, circular handle on the right. The slide underneath was certainly a surprise. The gondola was not. When she first followed him, she feared that she might miss where he turned the boat while waiting from the shore, but when she entered alone the next night, somehow she found her way. The lock at the great iron door was no trouble- she had no idea what the code was, but she knew a thing or two about breaking and entering. She knelt by the lock, pressing her ear close as she fiddled with it. A few cursory turns, left, right, left, a  _ click,  _ and she was in.

It was worse than she had expected.

There were pictures of Fester everywhere. She had never seen him before, aside from the portrait in the hallway, but here there were real photos. Fester and Gomez as young boys in their swimsuits, Fester shoveling dirt into his mouth, Fester and Gomez beside a burning high school, Fester in a Cadillac with a woman she could not recognize… it would be sweet if the photos didn't absolutely cover every wall. The rest of the room was set up like a lounge, all cozy with a taxidermy bear in the corner, but the thousands of eyes on her meant she would never relax. Perhaps that was the intention Gomez had when constructing these walls of memories. A thousand eyes boring into him, each set belonging to the person he cared for most who he may never see again. 

Morticia looked down to escape their gaze. Dried blood was splattered across the cold stone floor. She hadn't noticed it before, but it was almost certainly her husband's. She took a step back, suddenly feeling that she would not last another second in this room. The walls were closing in.

She returned to the first floor of the Addams manor so quickly that she was not aware of her body moving her there until she was pressed against the bookshelf, chest heaving. After catching her breath, Morticia vowed that she would not allow the problem to get any worse. She could not stand by and detach herself from what was happening to her husband, not now that she knew how far his madness had progressed. Unfortunately for Gomez, Morticia was stubborn, and her certain desire to help him did not provide him entry to her imprisoned soul. Not yet. She would do this alone. She began to rifle through the books before her, grasping each one on magic that she recognized.

"We'll see if I've retained anything from those tutors," she muttered, grabbing a copy of  _ Spells, Hexes, and How to Break Them.  _ "And we'll fix this."

She paused, placing an encyclopedia of dark magic on top of her stack of books.

" _ I'll  _ fix this."

* * *

"Querida. Please."

Morticia glanced up from the open spellbook on her vanity desk. Her poor husband was seated on the bed, leaning towards her as if magnetically pulled. There were those eyes again- those fiery pools of liquid gold that she so loved and feared. He moved away, as if she had bitten him. She must have flinched. She wanted to assure him that she was not afraid of him. She wanted to take him in her arms- and that was what he had been begging for, after all- but she was sure that if she felt his warmth against her after a week without, her facade would crack, and she would cry. She stared off at some invisible point in the bedroom, and spoke to him as if he was very far away.

"Later, my dearest." The promise was empty. They both knew it. During their honeymoon, there was only  _ now. _ Come to me. Hold me. Make love to me. All in the present. But today, Morticia had fled to some invisible future, and Gomez was deeply ensnared by his past. If they would only touch each other, perhaps they would meet in the middle again, but instead, their week of tension began to come to a head.

"Please," Gomez repeated, his tone more urgent. His hands were shaking.

Morticia turned the page, dragging a crimson nail over the ancient runes. “I said later.”   
  
“Why not now?” He was becoming desperate. The bags under his eyes had grown darker still since the night he told her about Fester. He had been neglecting his usual grooming rituals in favor of his pacing, and now his face was dusted with stubble. “What reason is there to postpone it?”

Morticia looked up into her mirror. Even she seemed to be falling apart. No amount of makeup could cover her own dark circles, and her usually proud shoulders slumped forward as she leaned over her book. She caught her husband's reflection behind her own, and she frowned. This wasn’t about being held anymore. He was going to ask her to talk.

“Querida. Amor de mi vida.”

She glanced over her shoulder, but still nothing. Gomez looked as if his heart was about to break.

“Say something!”

“There’s not much to say,” she lied, hoping he would drop it. She realized now that she had been postponing the inevitable, but a small, foolish part of her had hoped her problems would just fade away so they could return to their blissful marriage. Of course they wouldn't. She brought this all upon herself.

“Cara mia, you and I both know that’s not true!” His voice cracked under the weight of the accusation. “Why won’t you speak to me? Why are you afraid of me?”

Morticia could no longer look him in the eye. “I’m not afraid of you.” It was the truth, but she wished she sounded more confident. What she was truly afraid of was losing him.

“I don’t want to be the man I was four years ago,” Gomez insisted, eyes searching for even a hint of emotion in his wife. He felt as if she were miles away. “You are not like the Amore twins."

In spite of herself, Morticia laughed. "Is that what you think? That I'm worried I'll be some passionate fling?"

Gomez grimaced. "What else is there to think? You won't even let me hold you."

Morticia was silent for a few moments, then slowly shook her head. "Don't patronize me, Gomez."

"Understand me when I say that I'd never-"

"Gomez, please."

He pressed on, her words seemingly drowned out by his own regret. "I refuse to make that mistake again, especially with someone who means so much to me. Please. I know I’m not worth your pity, or your forgiveness, but please believe that I’ll try.”   
  
“I do.” The vow that had been spoken only a month prior seemed to tear at her throat.  _ This is where it ends, _ she told herself, and in an effort to dig in her heels and stop it, she closed herself off further.

“But you don’t! You won’t speak to me, you despise me, you think I’m the scum of the Earth, you’re afraid of… of… something, and you have to tell me! Why won’t you  _ tell _ me?!”

Morticia glared at him. In this moment, to admit fear would break her. “I am not afraid.” Her voice was cold as ice. “Perhaps you’re projecting.”

“Tish-”

“Look at me, Gomez.” His eyes met hers, and the look he gave her nearly brought her to tears, but she was too angry to care anymore. Angry with the universe for allowing this to happen so soon after she thought she had found bliss, but most of all, angry with herself. “Some things aren’t so easy to explain. Surely you of all people understand that.”

“Morticia, mia, you can tell me anything! I’m willing to be as vulnerable with you as you need me to be!” 

“Then will you explain what you’ve been doing in the vault?”   
  
Gomez froze. “How do you know I’ve been going to the vault? I told you not to follow me.” 

She said nothing. She didn’t need to. 

“You did follow me.” The hurt in his eyes slowly but surely shifted towards anger. Morticia was honestly relieved. Fury was far easier for her to deal with.

“What else was I meant to do?”   
  
Gomez threw his arms in the air. “Ask me!  _ Talk _ to me! If you wanted to know so badly, I would have tried my best to explain, but I… I didn’t want to worry you, it’s… it’s not...”

“Well, perhaps I have similar reasons for not speaking with you,” Morticia replied coldly. She thought of the blood on the floor of that horrible little room, and shuddered, turning back to her book. “Clearly you have enough on your plate. You don’t need to be worrying about this.”

“About  _ what _ , Morticia?! You haven’t told me a thing! I- I spill my heart out to you, and you shut yours so tightly that I wonder if I even have a place there anymore.”

Morticia winced. “Gomez. I’m only trying to protect you.”

“From  _ what?! _ ”

“From yourself.” It was a partial truth, an incomplete answer. She turned a page in the spellbook. Surely there had to be something to reverse this… but before she could even read the first word, Gomez had stumbled off of the bed towards her.

“Morticia, I'm not fragile! I’m- it’s complicated, but you- you sit there all day reading about  _ magic _ as if that will fix our troubles when you won’t even try to  _ speak  _ to me, and I  _ know  _ that you’re hiding something, and- and furthermore, what I need that room for is my business, but that doesn’t mean you can… that doesn’t… damn it, would you please just  _ look _ at me?!” He slammed her book shut, and the heavy  _ thump _ reverberated around the room. They both froze, staring stunned at each other for a moment, and Gomez felt instant regret. Though he had not hurt her, the violence in the act was unmistakable, and he began to worry that a piece of his impulsive, sardonic, teenage self was bubbling to the surface. Her frigid gaze did not tell him much, but he knew well enough to step back. He retreated, lowered himself onto their stiff mattress, and lifted the covers in silent invitation, asking her to come to bed. 

A truce.

She refused.

Slowly, painfully, she turned away and left their room with the book in her hand. Curled up in her peacock chair, she read the runes by candlelight, but she couldn't find anything to reverse the damage she was sure she had done. As if things couldn't get any worse, she saw her husband rush past her an hour later. He was headed to the vault again. 

"Gomez-"

He turned the corner, seemingly unable to hear her. Morticia dropped the book, rushing after him, and managed to slip through the secret passageway in the bookshelf before it shut once more.

"Gomez!" she cried again. He walked on, as if hypnotized, and pulled the chain, sending them both hurtling down the slide. She followed him all the way to that tiny locked room, clinging to the gondola as if she was his shadow. He hardly even turned his head when she called his name. Two, ten, eleven,  _ click _ \- the door to that horrid little room swung open. Like a marionette, Gomez stumbled inside, standing on the bloodstained floor and turning slowly, horrified by the thousands of photos staring at him.

"I'm sorry, Fester. I'm sorry."

He fell to his knees, chest heaving, and let out a blood curdling scream. Morticia finally leapt out of the gondola, rushing inside towards him.

"Gomez! Gomez, please!"

He screamed, hands and knees against the unyielding stone, and Morticia's heart sank.

_ I'm going to lose him tonight. I can feel it. _

They were frozen like that for a moment, the screams so ever present that they almost became white noise, until suddenly Gomez began to cough up blood. Morticia was jolted out of her hopeless stupor at the sight of it, and after weeks of distance, she wrapped her arms tightly around her husband.

"Gomez, please stop, you're hurting yourself!"

He shuddered, coughed up one last drop of blood, and crumpled in her arms, the strength finally leaving his body as he sobbed. She rubbed his shoulders, and he slowly began to calm down until there was no noise aside from his ragged breathing. Morticia was first to break the silence.

"Do you do this every night?"

Gomez nodded, and Morticia tried not to picture the source of all that blood again.

"We're taking these photos down."

"They're precious memories," Gomez rasped, but Morticia placed a finger to his lips.

"Not when you use them this way. We'll put them in an album, where they belong. I will not have my husband hurt himself this way."

Gomez was silent for a moment, then shakily stood up.

"Only if you speak to me. Tell me what's been on your mind."

Morticia grimaced. It was unfortunately a fair trade, and she hoped it wouldn't drive him away.

"All right."

* * *

“I don’t know where to begin.”

“Wherever you’re comfortable.”

Morticia paused, fighting the urge to close herself off again. “I suppose I'll start by mentioning that this isn't the first time I’ve been married.”

Gomez raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, prompting her to continue.

“It was arranged. I had just turned eighteen.”

“And he was…?”   
  
“Twenty-seven.”

Gomez gritted his teeth. "Scoundrel."

Morticia shook her head. "He was a fool. Oblivious and irritating. It was his family that was full of scoundrels. The marriage was for financial purposes- I understand that much now. Mother was in a tight spot after Father passed away, and this family, the Becketts, offered quite a lot as a dowry." Morticia looked down at her hands, and Gomez placed one of them in his own. The touch was nearly electric. They were slowly regaining their usual chemistry after days apart.

"Keep going, querida. I hear you. I'm listening."

* * *

At the time, marriage was the last thing on Morticia's mind. In fact, she had convinced herself that she would never be married, but the Beckett family seemed to think otherwise. They had noticed her mother's financial struggles, and they surely thought themselves to be incredibly generous in offering to ease her troubles. Of course, here in the land of the free, all kindness came with a price. One David Beckett was long overdue for a wife, according to his family, and his mother seemed insistent on having grandchildren. The horrid association of youth with fertility led them to Hester Frump's two daughters. Ophelia, the eldest, was currently seeing someone, but Morticia was all alone.

_ "Mother, must I really go through with it?" _

_ "Don't make it sound so awful, Morticia. He seems like a nice young man." _

_ "He's in his mid twenties." _

_ "...listen, my sweet. We have no other choice." _

_ "But what about Ophelia-" _

_ "They don't want Ophelia. They asked for you." _

The marriage took place on an afternoon so sunny that Morticia was sure that she would be blind by the time the ceremony ended. The vows were hollow, and meant nothing to her. The kiss was much the same. This lanky strawberry blond was not only someone she hardly knew, but someone she did not care to know. She had learned three facts about David Beckett before the wedding. One: he would eat nothing but organic granola for breakfast, and severely judged anyone who didn't do the same. Two: he hated animals- didn't matter what kind, he couldn't stand them. Three: instead of laughing, when he found something funny he would exhale loudly through his nose, then dryly state "Hilarious. Say it again." This was enough to repel her from him entirely, but he did not seem to want to leave her side once the ceremony was over. Perhaps it was due to the wishes of his mother, or perhaps he genuinely liked her, but either way she knew that she would not survive a marriage with him.

When he was engrossed in conversation with his family during the reception, she decided to do something about it. There was a small wooded area nearby that concealed her well enough that she could perform a small spell. Just a simple hex, nothing too intense, but enough to bring him absolutely horrible luck. It seemed to work well enough, because by the time she had returned, there was wine spilled across his pristine white tuxedo. Ideally, this little hex would push him away, and there would be a divorce before the honeymoon without her seeming disagreeable.

Of course, things could not be that simple. The honeymoon drew closer as the reception came to an end, and David Beckett seemed no less fond of her. He never made uncomfortable advances, but each time he spoke to her, she dreaded the thought of hearing that voice for the rest of her life. Morticia felt she had no other choice but to cast another hex. And another. By the end of the night she had thrown so many spells at him that she had lost track, but the last was quite spiteful. He seemed to pride himself in being a level-headed man, and so she willed him a step towards madness every day that they remained married. It was a powerful spell, one she had never touched before.

Too powerful.

The previously level-headed Mister Beckett took her to their honeymoon suite, but instead of embracing her, he began pacing, tearing his hair out, raving about his family and what they expected of him. She would sleep whenever there was a lull, but the next day he was still at it. Two days later, he began to howl. He punched holes in the wall. He spoke absolute gibberish. He clawed at his skin as if to remove it. Morticia looked on from the bed and did absolutely nothing.

Not even when he grabbed a knife from the kitchen and stabbed himself in the heart.

* * *

"It was my magic that did it," Morticia said softly, her voice trembling. "I cursed our marriage. I watched him die… and I did nothing. I've never told that to anyone- not even my own family." She turned away from her husband, thinking of the blood he had coughed up onto that cold stone floor. "And now it's all happening again."

"What? Querida, what are you saying?"

"This behavior, Gomez… it must be my fault. I cast so many hexes four years ago that I didn't think of their combined effect. I… I don't think that my marriage with him was the only one that was cursed to end in madness." She finally turned to look at him, and her eyes were full of genuine fear. "I think it extends to all men who marry me. And I have no idea how to reverse it."

Gomez blinked, and to Morticia's surprise, he began to laugh. She stiffened, absolutely horrified. 

"Oh, dear… it's already so much worse than I thought."

"No, no! Tish, I- you don't understand!" Gomez stifled his laughter so he could speak. "This- all of this- it didn't start with you! You think you've caused this level of madness on your own?"

"Well I… yes. That's exactly it."

"God, no! I've been slipping in and out of madness for years, Morticia. That room in the vault? I set it up a year after Fester left as punishment for myself. I suppose I willed myself to forget it was there when it all got to be too much." He shook his head, his laughter fading as tears formed in his eyes. "Repression is a hell of a drug."

"So you're… you're not… I don't understand."

"What I mean is that whether there's a curse or not, there is absolutely no way that a little magic can make my situation worse." Tears began to stream down his face, but he smiled at her. "This is  _ normal _ ."

"This is not normal, Gomez," Morticia insisted, but in spite of herself, she chuckled. "We both need therapy."

"Ha! You can say that again." Gomez sighed softly, wiping tears from his eyes with the heel of his hand. "Did you think I was going to kill myself?"

Morticia's face fell. "What else was I meant to think? All that blood… you never wanted me to follow you."

Gomez grimaced. "Sometimes we cope in strange ways, cara mia… but I promise you, I'll never end my life so abruptly. Not without you." He moved her hand towards his lips, and Morticia realized he had not let go since grasping it when she had begun telling her story. As mad as he was, he was her anchor, and as he kissed her hand, she finally began to feel that steel trap around her soul break open.

"And you don't think I'm reprehensible? Not even after an assisted suicide?"

"Darling, you could never be reprehensible to me." He kissed her hand again, and she knew that he meant it. "You're a different woman now than you were back then… and in that moment, you were trapped. I'm sure I would have done the same."

She nodded. "And you… I suppose you were trapped in your own way. You've changed now too."

Gomez sighed. "I hope so. If there's any trace of that Gomez Addams left in me, you don't deserve the misfortune of meeting him."

"Oh, please. I can stand a shallow flirt if you can stand to remain married to someone who's practically a murderer."

"Pfft. I'll be honest, I thought you had done far worse to him. The bastard would have deserved it for marrying a woman so young."

"We both need therapy," Morticia repeated, leaning her head against his chest, and the moment she did, she felt his heart leap with joy.

"Perhaps couples therapy will be our first real date," Gomez suggested, placing a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "I have a cousin who happens to be the best therapist I know. She specializes in psychotherapy, cognitive behavioral therapy, and primal scream therapy."

"You've had plenty of the third already, darling, and I don't think it's worked for you," Morticia teased. That twinkle had returned to her eye, and Gomez couldn't be happier. The fact that they could speak so casually about these things now meant that there was surely nothing they couldn't tell each other.

"Tish?"

"Hmm?"

"What would you say to renewing our vows?"

Morticia smiled gently at him. "I would say the sentiment is absolutely adorable, but we only just made our original vows."

"There's always room for improvement," Gomez stated. "I have a few I'd like to put into place."

"Now? With no witness?"

"What better way to do it?" He grinned, and her smile grew wider.

"Well… all right. I believe I have a few of my own to add."

They promised to love each other for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, in life and in death, in madness and in sanity… and they promised full, raw honesty to one another. This time, however, they truly meant it. They promised to tell the whole truth to one another, no matter how gruesome, and they promised to listen well to each detail. They promised to weather each other's storms, no matter how intense, and they promised to genuinely go to couple's therapy when it all became too much. And in the moments of calm, they promised gentleness, unadulterated passion, love beyond words, picnics in the moonlight, vacations in the loveliest bat caves, fencing in the living room, incredible yak dinners, little touches and moments of intimacy that would hold them together for years and years to come.

Above all else, they promised to dance with one another as often as possible. It was an art they had both often turned to for expression, but one they seldom had the privilege to truly take advantage of in their youth. Neither ever had a partner so willing. Gomez primarily knew how to tango, and Morticia leaned towards waltzing, but they were both eager to learn from one another, and by their first February together, they were experts in both. The spontaneity of it all was an exercise in trust itself. Cousin Shrink- her occupation completely coincidental- had advised them to do such exercises so there would be no more lapses like their first fight. Gomez would enter a room completely silently, wrap his arms around Morticia, and she would lean into his touch in seconds, allowing him to dip her so far down that her hair brushed the carpet. Morticia would slide in front of him as he gazed out a window smoking a cigar, and he would toss it aside immediately for a waltz through the parlor. Their responses were immediate, almost seamless, as was their communication. Five months of blissful marriage seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, and as Gomez led his wife onto the balcony on their first Valentines day and dipped her under the full moon, they both knew that they would live to see far more.

They kissed, slowly, passionately, as they always did, and when they pulled away, Gomez's eyes were shining with emotion.

"I love you, Morticia."

She smiled. Each time he spoke those words it sent little bats fluttering through her heart. She would never grow tired of it. "I love you too."

"I love every part of you." He pressed a kiss to her jawline. "Every moment that's ever made you who you are today. I love each one of your mistakes, each failing, even the darkest of secrets that you would never admit to anyone else."

Morticia cupped his face in her hand, her crimson nails framing his flushed cheek. "And I, you. I love the man you once were, and the man you are today. I love your mania, your madness, and every bit of your passion." 

She pressed her forehead to his, and he pulled her out of the dip, holding her tightly against him. "Most of all, I've always loved how open you are with me."

Gomez smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I could say the same for you, querida. You've truly let me in. I know it wasn't easy… and I'm so proud of you." He pulled her into another kiss, this one laced with far more passion, and when they both pulled away, even Morticia's pale face was flushed.

"In the spirit of honesty," she murmured, breathing heavily, "I have an incredible need to move this waltz to the bedroom."

Gomez grinned. "What a coincidence. I was thinking the same thing."

"Mmm, great minds do think alike, mon cher."

Gomez let out a low growl, scooping her up in his arms. "God, that French… you know what it does to me!"

The pair of them almost didn't make it to the bedroom, what with Morticia reciting French poetry into his ear and Gomez nearly dropping her, but as soon as they arrived, they happily made love for hours until they fell asleep in each other's arms, a tangle of limbs and bodies and sweat and pure ecstacy. It was their favorite way to get a good night's rest.

They never expected perfection. Never in their lives would they strive for such a ridiculous standard when what they had was more than enough.


End file.
